A Chance to Sleep In

Dearest Rachel –

I don’t know about you, since we rarely ever used the phrase, but I always thought the expression ‘thank God it’s Friday’ was just a little shy of blasphemous. Maybe it was just profane. Sure, it could appropriately be applied to Good Friday, but an ordinary Friday? Not so much.

And yet, if He orders our steps, He allows us the occasional day of rest, and we should be thankful to Him for it. For the first time in three weeks, this is one of those days, and therefore I say:

Thank God it’s Friday.

Enough introduction: I suspect you’ll be wanting some context – especially since that expression isn’t how I titled this letter – so here it is. The construction team had finished leveling the entire front floor, from the entrance hallway through the pantry, yesterday:

And I’m not kidding about the leveling process; you can see how thin some of the bars are in the front hall compared to those in the kitchen. It’s amazing that we managed to keep track of Daniel’s collection of Ramune marbles; drop any one, and they’d roll all the way to the pantry, were there nothing in between to stop it.

Today, there was to be no team here; the house was to be left to Tom to wire up for a whole bunch of new circuits. I didn’t realize that, in the kitchen especially, the village code insists that there be outlets no more than every four feet from each other. Needless to say, this requires adding a whole bunch of outlets – and corresponding fuses downstairs (and a whole new box to accommodate them. So, it’s a fair amount of work for Tom, and it would get in the way of the team working in the kitchen, so they’ve cleared out for a day.

The thing is, Tom also works as a volunteer firefighter in his town (I assume that he specializes in dealing with electrical fires), and it so happened that he was called to duty somewhat unexpectedly for today. So he won’t be in today, either – he will be here on Monday, however, so it isn’t as if the task is delayed by long. Indeed, Tim tells me that these sorts of issues are built into the original schedule, just in case, so we should still be on track to finish by the end of June.

This leaves me with a day in which, for the first time in what seems like ages (although you would be quick to remind me that it hasn’t even been a month) I could actually sleep in. I don’t have to make sure that I’m out of bed, washed and dressed before the construction team gets here (or, like on the actual weekends, but I’m out of the house to take care of one responsibility or another). I can, if desired, stay in bed for however long I want.

Or rather, for however long my body will let me. Not sure if it was what we had for dinner last night, or how much I had (you know what Mom’s cooking could be like – although, to be honest, she’s relying on side dishes pre-packaged by their local butchers), but a fair amount of it was in a hurry to make its way out. So it wasn’t a solid night sleep, being interrupted at one and again at three, before finally telling me at eight o’clock that I’d had enough rest. After all, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t fallen asleep in the recliner earlier, watching YouTube videos with Daniel. Ten hours of broken sleep ought to be quite sufficient, it was telling me.

Fine. At least it wasn’t insisting that I necessarily get up and do anything. I had, in fact, considered staying home to work on the lawn – Tim was actually kidding me yesterday afternoon about how I should be careful not to get myself a citation from the village.

It’s not quite yet what the kids on the internet would call ‘dummy thicc,’ but it’s a pretty shaggy carpet, you have to admit. It’s not like we haven’t gotten a warning notice from the village a time or two before, either.

When I mentioned this to dad, he got on the phone to the landscaping company – since he was the one to recommend them to me – and ask if and when they’d be by our place to cut the grass and so forth. I do sometimes wonder if they received the retainer I paid them at the end of last year – the check is still outstanding after these many months – and whether that might be why they haven’t been by, but Dad assured me that they’re just slow when it comes to both billing and cashing checks. As an accountant, I cannot imagine running a business that way, but if that’s what they want to do, and they can survive doing it, more power to them – and me, since that money stays in my account that much longer, even if I consider it as gone.

In any event, he’s recommended I not bother mowing for at least another day, and let them show up and do it.

All the same, I really need to get the snow thrower out of the garage; it isn’t as if I’ll be needing it at this point for at least the next six months.
So basically, I’m putting it into the shed, and taking the mower out, just in case the landscapers don’t show up by mid-day tomorrow. Again, I wish you could see that we’re putting this place to reasonable use; you had a whole lot of plans for it when we had it set up barely a month before the accident.

You can’t see it in the picture, but I also moved those soccer billiard balls into the shed; the next time the girls come over (and hopefully, it’ll be cooler than it already is this morning), we should be able to set everything up here, since the lake has finally dried up in the back yard.

Anyway, that’s been the morning, and a lazy one it’s been, too. Given Dad’s advice, I’ll probably just head to the ‘office’ from here, and leave Daniel and Logan (yep, he’s coming over today) to their own devices – literally.

Talk to you later, honey. Keep an eye out for me until then.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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